The end
by Cyclone Sword
Summary: After figthing Malefore, Cynder wakes up in an unfamiliar world. But that is not all, as there is a strange group of dragons waiting for her.


**Given to me as a birthday gift almost a year ago, I've finally decided to post it for you to enjoy.**

Cynder had the odd feeling of floating. As far as she could tell, nothing was supporting her, not even an updraft of wind, and yet she drifted along quite comfortably in what she assumed was the air. Her wings and limbs were stretched out leisurely as she slowly turned over, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she drowsily came to.

Sleepily, she first opened one eye and then the other, the emerald irises dull with weariness, and then they widened in surprise as she took in her surroundings. With a yelp, Cynder flailed her paws, causing herself to roll backwards and tumble head over tail until she managed to right herself by flapping her wings.

Very, very carefully, Cynder turned, paddling her feet as if she were swimming and using her tail to keep her balance. She felt herself tipping again and frantically beat at the air until she was relatively stable once more. This time, she stayed still, unwilling to disturb her precarious balance.

Licking her lips in slight nerves, Cynder flicked her gaze around what she could see: endless black sky, peppered with the odd flash of blue light, and a few floating islands made up of light grey stone. They ranged in size from no bigger than a hatchling's paw to many times the size of a grown dragon. There was one in particular that caught Cynder's eye; it was a fair distance away, but a great cathedral-like structure rose from it, a gaping hole for a door on the side facing her. She could see statues of the same dragon on either side of it, its wings tucked around its body and its chin tilted down, as if it would challenge anyone who drew near. Even as she watched, Cynder saw a flicker of movement from inside, and her heart skipped a beat.

The dragoness attempted to call out, but all she managed to rasp was a croaky, "Hello?" She cleared her throat and tried again with slightly more success this time, but there was no response. Gritting her teeth, she wriggled her toes and began to swim through the odd air. Luckily for her, she didn't have to do that for long; as Cynder passed what appeared to be an invisible boundary, gravity suddenly seemed to return, and she was forced to unfold her wings and glide over to the island for the last part. The stretch of her muscles was pleasing, as if she'd woken from a long nap and was taking her time getting up.

Her paws found purchase on the rock, and Cynder breathed a sigh of relief at the solid ground. She tapped it with her claws, enjoying the clicking sounds more than she probably should have, but it felt normal and familiar in this strange world. Tucking her wings against her sides, she padded forwards.

The two dragon statues loomed over her, and their gazes seemed to follow her path as she trotted towards the doorway. But Cynder wasn't one to be intimidated; she couldn't quite remember anything recently, but she knew for certain that she was a confident young dragoness, and wouldn't be put off by a few pieces of stone. So, with her tail swishing from side to side, she let herself into the building.

She froze on the spot at the sight that greeted her.

There were four dragons surrounding a blue pool set into a dip in the floor. On the walls were the four banners of the different elements: fire, electricity, ice and earth. A single dragon was stood in front of each one. The scales of each of them had a colour – red, yellow, blue and green – but they were faded, as if dust had collected on their bodies.

At the sound of her paws halting on the stone, the four dragons looked up. There was something odd about the way they looked from the doorway; their bodies seemed to flicker, and something like mist curled over their paws, but Cynder didn't quite know what it meant.

"Welcome, Cynder," a kind, deep voice rumbled. Following the sound of it, she caught the eye of the dull red dragon. There was a sparkle of something in his eyes – amusement, perhaps? – as she stared at him warily. "Come now, there's no need to be afraid, little one. Come and sit, and all will be explained to you."

There was a comforting, warm edge to his tone, and it put Cynder at ease. She felt herself relaxing just at the sound of his voice, but she didn't let her guard down. Hesitantly, Cynder hopped down from the steps in front of the door and down into the bowl-like shape in the floor. The four dragons made quiet sounds of encouragement as she joined them. After a slight pause, she sat, wrapping her tail over her forepaws.

The same dragon from before, the one that was crouched before the fire banner, nodded in approval. She realised then that the emotion in his gaze was pride, not humour, but what reason did he have to be proud of her?

"It is a relief to see that you found your way here, young dragoness. We began to worry that you would not discover it on your own." There was a rustle as the dragon moved his wings into a more comfortable position by his sides. His eyes – a mixture of gold and slivers of orange – were fixed on Cynder, as if he could see directly into her with them.

Cynder opened her mouth to protest – it hadn't been her fault that she'd been floating around, after all – when another of the dragons spoke up. It was the bright yellow one; he shifted from paw to paw, and couldn't seem to sit still. "It would have been nice of you to arrive quicker," he snipped, his muzzle wrinkling with distaste.

"Lux," the first dragon warned, a hint of a growl in his tone. It didn't seem to affect the golden lizard, however; he merely snorted and turned his nose up, dismissing the other.

"Oh, don't start. You know as well as I do that we don't have time to waste!" Lux sniffed, flicking his tail. "Get on with it." And, as an afterthought, he added, "Please."

With a long-suffering sigh, the first dragon returned his attention to Cynder. She had remained silent throughout that exchange, overcome with the realisation that the two of them had reminded her of Ignitus and Volteer. And, of course, with that thought, the memory of Ignitus's death followed.

"Cynder, we appreciate that this must be very… odd for you," he said, almost hesitantly.

The dragoness rolled her eyes, tipping her muzzle down to study the blue pool. "No kidding."

The flicker of a smile crossed over the dragon's features. He chuckled quietly. "This world does take some getting used to, I suppose. But never mind; that's not important. What _is, _however, is why you are here. Although, I think introductions are in order!"

With a slap of his paw on the ground that made Cynder jump, the red dragon pushed himself to his feet. He spread his wings to gesture to the other three, urging them to do the same. The blue one sighed, frosty air curling from his nostrils, and the green one merely stood in one smooth motion. In a movement that seemed oddly practiced, the four of them bowed at once.

Cynder would have been lying if she said it wasn't unnerving.

When the red dragon lifted his muzzle again, he smiled warmly at her and announced, "My name is Fove, and these are my companions: Petra," he extended his wing towards the dark emerald dragon, and then towards the pale blue one where he added, "and Stiria. And, of course, you've met Lux." With a light-hearted laugh, Fove nodded at the still shifting, ever-moving yellow dragon.

And, with that, the four of them sat again. Cynder had to admit, the synchronised movements were just as creepy as the first time.

As they all stared at her – Fove and Petra patient and still, Lux and Stiria giving her glacial stares and annoyed glances – Cynder realised they were waiting for her to speak. Fove seemed like the friendliest of them, so she directed her comments towards him. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. I'm Cynder-"

"Yes, yes," Lux interrupted, now tapping his claws on the stone floor. "Terror of the Skies, and all that. We all know everything, _of course._" Cynder flinched at the mention of her old nickname, the one that had been given to her while she was under Malefor's influence.

"Don't you use your brain?" Stiria scoffed. He sighed, shaking his muzzle. "Younglings, these days, Fove; they don't recognise when they're in the presence of those with greater knowledge than their own."

"You are as frosty as ever, Stiria," Fove replied dryly. "I must apologise for his behaviour, Cynder. Allow Petra and I to explain, since our other friends are determined on being so true to their elements."

With an irritated sigh, Fove turned to Petra. The dragon in question gave Cynder the impression of great strength, both spiritually and physically, although the flickering image-like quality to his body couldn't have been capable of moving anything very heavy. She doubted he would be able to make contact with anything physical at all, in fact. His voice was soothing, reminding her of the soft creak of a tree in the wind.

"I trust you know of the Ancestors, Cynder?"

"Of course." The dragoness nodded; all dragons learned about the Ancestors, one way or another.

Petra didn't seem surprised. "Good. The Ancestors are spirits of old dragons, ones that have passed over from the living world. There are many, many of them; an uncountable number, I am told. My friends and I are Ancestors – of a sort."

Cynder had suspected that they weren't living dragons, and she wasn't disappointed by his answer. However, that begged the question: was she alive? Her memories before this odd place were mere flashes and simple thoughts or feelings. Most common among them was fear, worry, anger and... was that love?

Petra flicked his tail towards the earth banner. "I suppose the only way I can really describe it, is we are the embodiments of our respective elements. I am Earth. Strong, patient, healing."

Cynder could see it easily now. As she looked around the circle of dragons, she noted each of their qualities; Fove, warm, kind with the ability to turn fiery if need be; Lux with his restless attitude; and finally Stiria, cold and prickly. When she ended up at Petra again, there was certainly humour in his expression this time. With a gentle chuckle, he folded one forepaw over the other and let his wings drop from his back to rest on the ground instead.

After a moment's silence, Cynder looked back up at Petra, glancing between him and Fove as she asked, "But how does this have anything to do with me being here?"

"Good question," Fove praised, nodding his head with a smile. "As you well know, we – as well as other Ancestors – felt it was necessary to intervene in your battle with the Dark Master. I'm sorry to say that you wouldn't have succeeded if it weren't for us."

Cynder's muzzle twisted bitterly, but she didn't protest; it was true, after all. She and Spyro – her stomach did a funny little jolt at the thought of his name – had been in the process of being battered by Malefor, until the Ancestors had taken over in the fight. And then-

Oh.

Spyro's sacrifice.

Cynder worked her throat to swallow nervously, but it was suddenly dry and didn't want to cooperate. She pressed her forepaws more firmly onto the stone to keep herself grounded. She barely missed a beat. Once she had her emotions firmly under control, she lifted her chin up and stared right at Fove, who had been watching her with concern. He took her lead and pretended that that hadn't happened.

Not that it made much of a difference anyway. The reason for Cynder being there was about to be revealed to her, which meant delving into the topic she wanted to keep to herself.

"Of course, after we helped… there was not much else we could do." The Fire Spirit shared an uncomfortable glance with his fellows. "The Dark Master was strong, and we were only able to stop half of the problem. The rest fell to your friend, Spyro the Purple Dragon."

_Not just friend,_Cynder thought, flinching. At least, it hadn't just been friendship to her, not in the end. She and Spyro had been through too much together, had saved each other countless times, and it had certainly left its mark on her soul. "Where is he?" Cynder demanded, her old flare returning. She didn't like feeling so vulnerable, so she naturally became defensive instead.

"He is… lingering," Fove said slowly.

Stiria spoke up, but instead of being cold this time, he was simply matter-of-fact. "The Purple Dragon is in a state of neither life nor death – much like yourself, only you are stronger in spirit than you are in body currently. Spyro gave into his powers as the Purple Dragon, and so his energy was massively depleted, rendering him unable to 'wake up', let alone walk about and act like a fully functioning dragon."

Cynder narrowed her eyes at Stiria, but the Ice Spirit didn't attempt to make his tone any kinder. The dragoness found herself wondering if he was even capable of doing so. "Whereas you, Cynder, did the opposite. You could not offer your own strength; your powers were too dark, too twisted to assist in recreating the world. And yet, Spyro's magic sapped most of the energy from you in order to fuel his spell, and you were both left with barely any strength, while your weakness lies in your physical energy rather than your magical supply."

"So that's it then." Cynder glanced between the dragons, searching for an explanation in their faces. "Spyro and I can't get anywhere. We can't wake up. We can't _live._We're stuck." Cynder wasn't one to give up, but she couldn't see a way out of this. Would she have to spend her time with the four Spirits? She cringed at the thought.

"Not quite." Fove shook his head, a kind smile on his muzzle. "Over time, strength rebuilds. Dragons rely on magic for energy just as much as they do for food. You, Cynder, have enough to rouse yourself from your dreams, and attempt to do the same for Spyro. Once you are both free from the clutches of sleep, you will be able to return home."

Cynder was instantly buzzing with the need to _move_, to get _up_, get it _done. _She needed to see Spyro again. Had he heard her, before he'd cast his spell? Did he remember her confession? She hoped so. Cynder didn't know if she'd have the courage to say it again.

After all, she was Cynder, Terror of the Skies. She'd tried to kill him on many more occasions than she'd saved him. Spyro was the Purple Dragon, the one destined to change the world – and he had, for the better. He'd fulfilled his destiny and saved the world from Malefor, along with her help.

Cynder took a calming breath. She would have to wait and see how things turned out.

"How do I get out?" Cynder asked.

She expected an answer from Fove, but it came from Lux. He laughed, and there was a twinkle in his eyes. As she quickly looked at each of the spirits, she realised that they all wore warm expressions now, even Stiria, despite the mist curling from his nostrils. "My dear," Lux chuckled, "you simply wake up."

All of a sudden, Cynder felt very dizzy. The world around her seemed to swirl, much like when she'd tumbled over herself in the sky outside this building, but now she could still feel the steady ground beneath her paws. That was, until she toppled over onto her side, closed her eyes against the sickly spinning, and fell asleep.

* * *

Cynder groaned softly. This way of waking up was much worse than before. She could feel every bruise and scratch, every nick and scrape, every mark and burn. Cynder felt horribly weak; her legs would not support her yet, and she could barely even open her eyes. The rock under her belly was hard and unforgiving, shards of it poking into her scales. The air smelled of smoke and fire and the lingering crackle of magic, the remnants of which slowly gave her enough strength to force her eyelids open and look around.

She was on a ledge, high above any dangerous part of the volcano Malefor's lair had rested in before it was destroyed. The ground around her was littered with rocks and pieces of debris; some of them were even half on top of her. With a quiet grunt, Cynder kicked them off; they tumbled away over the edge and far down below, clattering as they went.

As she pushed herself upright – wincing and cursing under her breath as she did so – the dim light caught on something, a flash of purple winking at her. Her heart skipped a beat, and as Cynder followed her gaze, she happily realised that it was Spyro.

Like she had been, he was buried underneath bits of rock, but it was significantly less than she'd had to deal with. Perhaps his spell had protected him. Either way, if Cynder hadn't seen the gentle rise and fall of his ribs, she would have believed him to be dead. As it was, she had a moment of panic when she couldn't detect his breathing at all, and she thought the Ancestors had been lying, but then he took in a shaky lungful of air and she relaxed.

Carefully, Cynder padded over to him. With a wing that trembled from weakness and just a little bit of fear, she brushed off the chips of rock that littered his scales. Beneath them, there were wounds, like on Cynder's body, and she cringed away at the sight of them before gathering herself. They looked bad, but Spyro needed her. Cynder crouched beside him – part of her grateful to sink to her belly again – and nudged his muzzle with hers.

"Spyro," she murmured. Her voice cracked with dehydration, and she licked her lips in an attempt to make herself feel better. How was it that she'd felt so normal, whole and safe in that dream, and now it was like she was the complete opposite? It was exhausting. Al she wanted to do was sleep some more. Cynder began to worry that they wouldn't be able to make it back to Warfang before their strength gave out altogether.

He didn't move at the sound of her voice, but there seemed to be a slight tensing in his body. Other than that, Spyro gave no sound that he'd heard her.

"Spyro," she repeated, more insistent now. Growing annoyed and anxious, Cynder lifted her tail and poked his side with the sharp tip. She was careful not to add to the scratches, but she did make sure that he would be able to feel it. Cynder felt the muscle in his leg twitch away from the spike on her tail, and hope flared in her chest.

Letting her tail drop back to the ground, Cynder stretched out to touch her muzzle to Spyro's again. This time, his lips parted in sleepy surprise at the touch, and Cynder's excitement increased. "Wake up," she whispered, nudging his cheek with her nose.

He stirred weakly. It was little more than a twitch of a toe, a flicker of an eyelid, but it was enough to convince Cynder that she was doing her job correctly. In a final attempt to try something new, she began to rasp her tongue over the cuts on his face that had been made by little shards of stone. The tang of Spyro's blood made her wince, but it appeared to do the trick.

Bit by bit, Spyro woke.

First his eyes fluttered open. Then he grunted quietly in pain and closed them again. It took another minute of Cynder's gentle encouragement for him to slowly lift his head and look at her.

He looked tired, there was no doubt about that. Exhausted was a better word. He was barely able to hold himself upright, and when Cynder drew her muzzle back, he drooped against her shoulder. She draped her wing over his side and simply held him, revelling in the fact that he was alive.

It was a long while before he spoke, and when he did, Cynder missed the words. "What was that?" she asked quietly, turning her muzzle down to look at him. Just as the Ancestors had promised, she could feel herself becoming stronger as the seconds ticked by. Sitting more firmly against his side, she lowered her head to place it by his.

There was something glimmering in Spyro's eyes, but she couldn't tell what it was. She was too tired to try and work it out.

But it turned out that she didn't need to.

Spyro repeated what he'd said, a tiny, hopeful smile on his muzzle. "I love you, too."

Cynder froze in shock. Spyro had heard what she'd said, and he'd remembered. In all honesty, the words had slipped out just because she'd thought they were going to die, but now she knew them to be true.

And Spyro felt the same way.

Cynder knew that everything would be alright now. It didn't matter that they were weak and still recovering from Malefor's attacks, because they would be fine. They were healing. And, in time, they would rejoin their friends.

The sun peeked up over the lip of Malefor's volcano, promising a warm day. And, as Spyro touched the tip of his muzzle to hers, Cynder let out a breathless little laugh. They'd survived. She couldn't bring herself to face the horrors of what had happened during the battle yet, but it was ok for now.

As Cynder's laugh increased in volume, Spyro joined in, and soon the sound was echoing back at them in the enclosed space. Where once there had been misery and fear in this volcano, there was now joy.

Malefor was nothing more than a memory.

The war had finally reached it's end.


End file.
